


we can chalk it up to muscle memory

by RonnieSilverlake



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Drabble, Feelings, I give up this just has no genre okay, M/M, Protectiveness, idfk what to tag this as tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/RonnieSilverlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's the kind of thing where you wipe off a blackboard with a dry sponge. Not as fully clean as if you did it with a wet cloth, but clean enough for completely new information to be written on it, covering up the remains of what was there before.</i>
</p><p>(In which Steve proves Bucky wrong in a matter of three seconds, without really trying, and it's not really what anyone expected.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we can chalk it up to muscle memory

"I'll just tell you everything I remember," Steve Rogers says, as if this is the easiest, most obvious thing in the world.

The Winter Soldier stretches out on the worn couch, folds his arms, and looks at the blond as if saying _I'll believe it when I see it_.

Steve has made him describe what he feels like, and it is the first time he actually puts words to this state of nobody-ness. He is most definitely not Bucky Barnes, but the Winter Soldier was nothing more than a pawn, a machine, and it's impossible not to feel human next to this blond fool who radiates warmth and understanding and (completely unsolicited) trust.

For a good half an hour, Steve just talks and talks and _talks_. And the Soldier listens, because really, there is nothing else to do, and the more time passes, the more desperation he sees in the Captain's face, because nothing, _nothing_ rings a bell, and he wants it so much that the Soldier sort of begins wanting it, too, even if he has no reason to, no actual need for himself. You can't miss what you never had, there is supposed to be a saying that goes that way.

Except Steve is so goddamned sure that he _did_ have these memories at one point; that he _was_ James Buchanan Barnes, and it almost doesn't matter that it was over half a century ago, and even if he did remember, he would be a completely different person today anyways.

He thinks more of what he _does_ remember, and the way he describes it, Steve understands that it's the kind of thing where you wipe off a blackboard with a dry sponge. Not as fully clean as if you did it with a wet cloth, but clean enough for completely new information to be written on it, covering up the remains of what was there before.

There is no way to read the bottom layer of chalk, the Soldier tells him, not even if you wipe off the current writing (and he can't quite do that anyway, not without cryostasis, the idea of which horrifies Steve anyway).

He doesn't account for how hard certain people press chalk against the blackboard sometimes. He thinks it doesn't really go well with the metaphor.

He's wrong.

Steve is describing a winter when it happens. A dreadfully cold winter that brought out the worst kind of sickness in the boy with such poor health that he used to be. He describes how Bucky took care of him while he was coughing his lungs out with pneumonia, and how he sold all his food tickets to scrape up some medicine. (Up to this day, Steve doesn't know how Bucky ate for the rest of the month – he refused to tell him.)

Steve draws in a deep breath, and, in hindsight, there is probably some sort of pollen in the late Spring air that he inhales. He doesn't have asthma or allergies anymore, thanks to the serum, but that doesn't protect him from reflexive reactions to something getting into his lungs. He coughs violently, leaning forward, his palm pressed flat against his own chest as his eyes begin to stream and he gasps for air. And somehow – it just _happens_.

There are no memories flooding his mind. There is no blacking out and reliving the past. It's like a flip of the switch – or maybe, like lifting up a giant sack of flour rations. All of a sudden, the memories are just _there_ , as if they always have been, buried under what was practically an iceberg... but _there_ , all along.

And as the Soldier – no, _Bucky_ – throws an arm around Steve's shoulders and then begins rubbing his back gently, and remembers how many times he has done it before, _decades_ ago, he has to admit that there are certain chalk marks that carve into the blackboard, leaving scratches even after it's all washed off with wet cloth. And he understands it more than he used to back in the forties, that everything could be wiped away from Bucky Barnes, the most carnal desire would still remain –

Protecting Steve Rogers.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a completely random idea I decided to drabble instead of incorporating it into a proper one-shot  
> Opinions are very much appreciated! c:  
> (CA:TWS has captured my heart and soul, and it refuses to let go, so I'll probably be writing more of these two.)


End file.
